Push
by StarSixtyNine
Summary: Three-shot, PunkxOC; "You know good and damned well you're not looking at Mr. Brooks," he said the name with such disgust that I actually flinched a bit. "You're looking at Phil." Sometimes, all it takes is a little push.
1. Chapter 1

**Chantel is posting something. What the hell?**

**Punk has invaded my brain. This is cheesy. You'll live. **

**OC has no name, because where the hell is the fun in that?**

**YAY AN OC WHO'S WORKS IN THE WWE AND **_**NOT**_** FRIENDS WITH A MCMAHON CHILD!**

**Italics are basically her giving background information on their relationship, how it started, how it ended, that good stuff. Anything not in italics, figure it out.**

Sometimes, I just like to come out here and think. People talk down on sitting out in LA because it's too brightly lit, you can't see very many stars, and the smog is ridiculous. You can't "enjoy nature." And while all of that is true, it comforts me. The city life gets me goin', man. Even if I'm sitting somewhere in a wooded area a few miles out from the city, you can still feel the energy of it all. It's no NYC, I'll tell you that, but it's me. It's home.

Only he knows that I come out here whenever I have too much on my mind, and usually he'd come out here to see me, but I haven't seen him much since we broke up. So naturally, he wouldn't give a damn whether I was out here or not. He's here in LA doing some promotional shit, but that's that. No detours to come see me; just a few appearances, and its back on a plane for him.

* * *

_I really started to talk to Phil (or Punk, as he likes to be called. Most people call him 'Phil' when they're upset with him, I did the opposite. I only viewed him as a punk when I was angry with him) during a Wrestlemania-craze a few years ago. 2008, I think it was. _

_I work in the Public Relations department with the WWE, but I'm stationed here in their Los Angeles office. I had to fly down to Florida that year to work with the Advertising Department a few weeks before Wrestlemania 24, you know, when the WWE "takes over" the entire town for two weeks or so before the event. I was at a lot of the signings, and I met up with a lot of guys like Cena and Orton for radio appearances, television appearances, and things of that nature. That's what I do; I set up appearances, get our product out to the masses, and try my damndest to get the people what they want._

_On this trip, I got closer to Phil because he was booked to win the Money in the Bank, so we had put a really big emphasis on him during those two weeks, just so he wouldn't walk out to the ring and had people sort of glance him over like he was nothing. I booked his appearances and went with him quite often. I know, I sound like a personal assistant, but trust me—no one knows what to do unless the PR Agent is there._

_I'd known him before from meetings that we had with the Merchandising Department and Vince, but it was always in a business tone. Thanks to this trip, I'd got to know him a bit more as a person, and we clicked right away. I know a lot of the workers in the company have this rule about not seeing the wrestlers or anything, but I didn't. Come on, I'm just a girl who works at one of their corporate offices that only sees these wrestlers whenever something big is going down. I work my magic in my office, usually on my cell phone or through email. None of these dudes are going to want me! _

_That's what I thought at least. After Wrestlemania, Phil and I stayed in contact with each other. Not on a professional level, but a more personal level, which shocked the hell out of a lot of people, because… this is going to be a shitty thing to say, but Phil is like sushi—he's acquired taste. Not everyone can deal with him, because they have no idea what the hell his mood is going to be like from day to day. He can be peppy (which is not very often), and he can be quite moody. I'm not going to brag and say that I "tamed the beast," because I didn't. Half of the time, I didn't even know how to deal with him, but I stuck around. Underneath all of that crabbiness was a really cool dude, a dude that I wanted to get to know._

_And I did get to know him. I got to know him so well that a lot of people at corporate were beginning to speculate that I was only with him to move up in position within the company, and to get some of his money. That was stupid, because in 2008, while he was very over with the fans, Phil didn't have too much influence within the company. He still doesn't, even today in 2010. And I already make a decent chunk of change on my own. Phil can keep his money._

_I got to know him so well that after about eight months of seeing each other, I started moving some of my stuff into his apartment in Chicago. Yes, Chicago. I couldn't move out there fully, but whenever I felt that I had to get away from the hustle-and-bustle of Los Angeles (which ended up being quite often), I would pack up and do my job from the comfort of Phil's living room on my laptop. We were smitten with each other. So what was the problem?_

_We got promotions._

_I got promoted to the Head of the PR department for the WWE, and he became the World Heavyweight Champion again. He was on the road more often, doing more appearances on television and signings. I set them up, but now I had to look over the entire PR department, and work even closer with Advertising to set up appointments, appearances, and even shows. It was the same thing I was doing before, but now I was setting up that kind of stuff for events overseas, which is incredibly stressful. I stopped going to Chicago as often as I did, I couldn't travel as often, and Phil was just being… distant. I understand that he was unhappy with our schedule changes, because now I couldn't just up and leave as often as I used to. Hell, so was I. But eventually, it just got to the point that he stopped being my boyfriend and just the guy that I slept with exclusively._

_That killed me, so I ended the relationship. It ended way better than I thought it would, Phil actually took it really well. I guess he understood where I was coming from, and even though we really didn't want it to end, it had to._

_Phil says all the time that he's usually on never good terms with ex-girlfriends, and he's not joking. He's not exactly nasty to me since we still do work with each other, but I can definitely tell that when we're in a meeting together, he'd rather be somewhere else, preferably far away from me._

So, I'm sitting here by myself in a wooded area not too far away from the "Hollywood" sign on the outskirts of Los Angeles. I can see the cars driving around Hollywood if I look down in front of me, and if I look straight ahead, I see the collection of lighted buildings that make up Downtown. If I look to my left, I can see the Griffith Park Observatory, and if I look to my right, I can see a few of the houses in the Bel-Air neighborhood. This is all very random, actually observing what's around me, but this place holds very special meaning to me. I took Phil up here for our first date. We walked around the Observatory, because that was one of the first things that he wanted to do, claiming that "it looked awesome in movies." He changed his mind after we went, though. He said that it was "a little hum drum," which had me cracking up laughing because "hum drum" is not a word that I would have associated with Phil Brooks' vocabulary.

I drove him over here to where I'm sitting now, mainly because I didn't feel like going home, and Phil wasn't complaining. We sat here for a good while, just talking about different situations we've gone through in our lives. Of course, his tales of being on the road were far more interesting than my tales at the beach or occasional moments of road rage on the freeway.

"_**You know, you're very cookie cutter," Phil observed while he had his arm around me, looking over the city. "Ya know… tailored suits, always with the latest smart phone and talking on it with the snobbiest laugh ever."**_

_**At that, I had to laugh. "Oh, don't stop there." The sentence was doused in sarcasm. "I have a **_**snobby**_** laugh?"**_

"_**Maybe not snobby. It sounds a little too forced, to my ears, anyway. But I like that." He shot one of his off-grins at me. "And besides, I've never dated a business woman before." He smiled.**_

"_**Oh, shut up. Business woman?" I laughed, trying my damndest not to let it sound 'snobby'. "I make sure you're on television or the radio when you're supposed to be. Big deal."**_

"_**No… you shut up."**_

_**I blinked. "Wha—"**_

_**He cut me off with our first kiss.**_

_**

* * *

**_

Call me corny, but that's a big reason why this place is so important to me. I had a lot of good times up here with Phil. A few _really_ good times that I can't talk about, because I'm sure that there are young ears around here somewhere.

"Oh, my GOD," I scream and shuffle to my feet when I feel an arm go around me. I place a hand over my heart and stare wide-eyed at the silhouette, wearing a hooded jacket. I didn't run only because my eyes swept over his body as I jolted up and saw the familiar "No Gimmicks Needed" tattoo on the back of one of his hands.

"Christ, great to see you, too," Phil replied sarcastically as he looked up at me.

**This WAS supposed to be a one-shot, but meh. I like the plot too much.**

**Oh, before any of you lash out at me, the OC is not based off of me. I actually despise writing about myself. If it were 85 degrees in the evening (which is quite often now), I would not be sitting in some random forest looking over LA; I'd be wishing death upon those who have A/C (much like I'm doing right now) because I don't.**

**I write about LA because I know LA. I don't like looking like a dumbass and not knowing what I'm talking about when it comes to cities. Now that that's cleared up…**

**Review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to the two folks that actually reviewed. To those that put it on alert and nothing else, I usually wouldn't let it bother me, but.. eh. Thank you, too.**

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**Chapter 2**

"Why the hell would you sneak up on me like that, Phil?" I asked as I caught my breath and removed my hand from my chest, but decided to stay standing.

He knew what I was thinking and patted the spot next to him. "Never could call me Punk, could you?"

"No," I replied and sat down, but not directly next to him. Because he would put his arm around me, and that would insinuate that we're a couple, and we're not. I have no idea what's with this sudden change of heart he's having, either. "You have to act like a punk for me to call you one."

"I act like a punk every day of my life."

"Guess we've got two different definitions of what a punk actually is then, eh?" I shrugged, wrung my hands together, and looked up at him. "Why the hell are you wearing that sweater?"

"I'm comfortable."

"It's 85 degrees out here."

"So?"

"At night."

"So?" He pressed.

"We're going through a damned heat wave; take that off before you end up passing out."

"My mom is already on Twitter, I don't need to see her in my ex-girlfriend, too." He rolled his eyes, but took off the jacket anyway. Now it was his turn to look at me. "You look good."

"Yeah. Why are you here?" I asked, cutting straight to the point.

"Because this is America, and I can go where I please." I shot him a look that showed that I was not at all impressed with his sarcasm. "I can come up here, too. I didn't know you'd be here. I finished up my appearances early, it's nice out, so I thought I'd come up here. For old times sake."

I nodded, satisfied with his answer. Even though deep down, I know he shouldn't be explaining himself to me. I'm not his girlfriend anymore.

"Do I have cooties or something?" Phil asked, out of the blue.

That threw me off. "What?"

"You heard me."

"No, Phil," I rolled my eyes. "You don't have cooties."

"So why are you sitting so far away from me?" He asked, looking me in the face. Even now, I know that whenever he looks me in the eye, he's being serious.

I'm the kind of person that has an answer to practically any question that you ask me. But the simple question of why I was distancing myself, I couldn't come up with an answer. Well, I couldn't come up with a fabricated answer, so I had to answer truthfully.

"Because you hate me."

He frowned. "What? I don't hate you."

"Your facial expressions in meetings and pretty much everywhere else you see me say otherwise." And it was the truth. He looked like he wanted to vomit every time he saw me.

He sighed, and ran a head over his fuzzy head. "Look… I'm sorry if I made you feel that way. But damn it, girl, I miss you." He scooted closer to me, and I felt myself holding my breath a bit.

I snorted lowly out of spite. "Nice way of showing that."

He decided to ignore that. "I know it didn't work out between us the last time because of our schedules and shit. And I'm not going to lie over you and say that I'm losing sleep over you, 'cause I'm not. I'm not that kind of guy."

I scoffed, and looked away.

He put his hand under my chin and making me look back at him, while slipping his free arm around my shoulders. "But, I'm also not the kind of guy who will go to an ex and for her to take me back. You're really special to me."

I closed my eyes at his last admission. Damn Phil Brooks. Damn him straight to hell for making me feel like this.

"Phil, I don't know." I shook my head. "I don't want it to be like the last time. Where it started out great and went straight to hell. I can't deal with that again." I pushed his arm off of my shoulders gently and stood up, shifting my weight from one foot from another as I contemplated this. I'm not going to lie and say that I don't miss him, because I do. I miss him a lot. But I don't miss the distance between us, emotionally. I don't miss the fights we had because we never made time for each other.

He stood up and didn't come any closer to me, which I appreciated, because I probably would have ended up crying. Instead, he just looked at me. "It wouldn't be like the last time. I'm not champion anymore; you know how to deal with the demands of your jobs better than you did when you first started out." That was true. "We can make it work."

"Phil, I don't know, I just…" I sighed, actually facepalming. I have to be incredibly frustrated to facepalm. And I'm not frustrated in this situation, I'm conflicted. "I want to say yes."

"So say yes."

"It's a lot harder than it sounds, Phil. I wish it wasn't." I shook my head, looking down. I was not about to cry over this man.

"You're letting all of these 'buts' hold you back. Quit thinking so damned hard." He walked over, invading my space, and rested his hands on my hips. Not to be a pervert, but that's my favorite place for his hands to be. It's as if they were made specifically just for resting there. He took this opportunity to pull me closer to him, and I felt his breath blow across my face. It was still as minty as ever. "I miss you," he said softly, and the admission made me close my eyes and relax a bit against him out of habit. We were in this position a lot, whether it was when he was calming me down from the stresses of work, or we were just talking quietly with each other. "I miss you and I know you miss me, too."

I opened my eyes at that. He wasn't lying, but how could he be so damn sure? "What makes you think that?"

He gave me a light grin that was a little on the smug side. "Because if you didn't, you would have walked away from me a long time ago. You'd be at home on your laptop, doing stuff for work, trying to erase this conversation from your memory. You wouldn't be letting me hold you like this." He gave me a small squeeze, before he started to lean in slowly. "And you would be walking away right about now, since I'm about to kiss you…"

I did freeze for a minute when he kissed me. And damn it if I didn't want to kiss him back, but I pulled away, searching his eyes for a sign of anything. And what I got back both elated me and scared the hell out of me.

It was sincerity.

"I…I have to go," I stammered and moved out of his embrace. He looked disappointed, and I feel like shit because I know I'm the reason that he looks like that. But I put my head down and looked at the mixture of green and dry grass beneath my sandals. "We have a meeting in the morning at the Marriott. Your personal assistant will go over your travel arrangements afterwards, I'm sure."

I didn't have to look up at him to see the disappointed look on his face after I'd diverged into business talk. I did that with him, too. If I didn't feel like talking about something, I'd go into what we'd have to do for work.

"Yeah." He sighed. "I'll see you then."

I took that as my opportunity to leave. I walked down the small hill behind our… my spot to get to my car. I got in the car and put my seat belt on before. I looked over to see Phil sitting back down, looking over the city, much like I was doing not even an hour before. I exhaled before turning the car on, putting it into drive, and driving off.

* * *

**I'm so mean, I know. Cuddling fic!Punk (because real life Punk would punch me in the face) and working on the final chapter. I'd be nice and ask what you wanted to happen, but I've got a feeling it would be something like "GET THEM BACK TOGETHER." If there's anything that you think would actually be helpful to the plot of the story, go on and leave a suggestion. Otherwise, I'll see you later. Review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**To my knowledge, Punk has not been on Leno. It's called fan**_**fiction**_**.****

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**

"Fuckin' meetings."

I got a wakeup call from my personal assistant at four in the morning, reminding me that I have a meeting at the Marriott at seven and that a limo would be here to pick me up at 6:15. It's still hot as hell outside, probably a good 80 degrees out and the sun isn't supposed to be up for another hour and a half. 80 degrees usually isn't really hot to me, but to say that's it's four in the morning and LA borders the damn Pacific Ocean, I feel no "ocean breeze" coming in. This sucks.

I took a long shower, mainly to get all of the sweat from my skin that had accumulated (gross, right?) while I was sleeping, and partly to wash the memories of last night away. I was not successful in accomplishing the latter, but I'm going to push that behind me and act like it didn't even happen, because Phil and I have a meeting at the Marriott today discussing his next few appearances, and I can't let what happened cloud my mind.

About an hour later, I'm in one of my usual summer work outfits, a black dress semi-formfitting dress that stopped right above the knees, a black jacket with white asymmetrical designs for the hotel because it's colder than the North Pole in their conference rooms, and black patented leather six-inch heels. Hey, I'm the head of my department, and I've got to look good.

It didn't dawn on me that my entire damn outfit was a gift from Phil until I got downstairs, about to go out to get into the limo. I contemplated going to change, but I would really be cutting it close with time, if I wanted to make my usual Starbucks run before I got to the hotel. I let out a breath, locked up the house, and went to the limo.

I slipped my shades over my eyes as I was driven through Los Angeles, looking at a lot of folks just starting to leave to head out to work, while I was already near my destination. We pulled into the Starbucks driveway as per usual, and instead of getting hot coffee (because I have no intentions of dying today, given how warm it already is), I got an iced coffee, although I insisted that they didn't blend it. It'd melt on the spot.

After the short stop, we continued on our way to the Marriott and got there at about 6:45. I hauled ass in my heels, an iced coffee in my right hand, my purse hoisted up on my left shoulder, and holding my brief case in my left hand. I set that down for a brief moment to sign in at the front desk before being escorted to one of the conference rooms by security. He opened the door for me; I thanked him politely, and turned to see Phil there already, waiting for me. His personal assistant (who I've never cared for) was busy trying to get his attention, but he was staring at me, which made me shift a bit, before trying to go back into work mode.

"Good morning, Mr. Brooks," I greeted him in a professional tone, setting my things down before taking a seat. A few of my other staff workers were there, and a few trainees.

"Why so formal?" He shot up an eyebrow, and I had to bite back an annoyed groan. There was a time and a place or everything, and this was neither the time nor the place for his antics. "Call me Phil."

"Mr. Brooks," I continued, shooting him a small look that said '_knock it off.'_ "Perhaps at another time. Right now, we need to get a rough idea of what your schedule will be looking like for the next two months or so."

"Well," his assistant, Patricia (or as I like to call her, Evil Saint Patty) chimed in, "He has an appearance on Leno in two weeks, an autograph signing in Dallas, before he comes back to California for a signing in San Francisco."

I nodded and wrote down a few things in my calendar before looking at my more experienced staff and the trainees and looked at them expectantly. "Are you taking notes?"

My staff knows that I don't mess around when it comes to work, and while everyone should have trained ears when it comes to meetings like this, if someone misses something in their notes, they can conference with another person to see what they missed.

"Get on it," I commanded calmly. They all got to work, and I turned my attention back to Phil, who was looking at me with a smug grin.

"Feisty."

Don't retort. Just do your job. Self control.

"Back to business." I cleared my throat, taking a sip of my iced coffee. "You have a few radio appearances as well…"

**About an hour later**

After making a few adjustments to Phil's appearance schedule and making sure that Evil Saint Patty could work her damned BlackBerry well enough to get it in _her_ calendar, I ended the meeting. I reviewed my notes with my staff to make sure that we had the same thing, before handing it off to my PA who'd arrived to the hotel way before I did, telling her to leave them on my desk and I'd tend to them later.

I overheard Patricia talking to Phil. I guess she thought that her voice was low, but she was wrong. Way wrong.

"So, I was thinking that we could go on and get some breakfast or something. Maybe dinner later tonight?"

I snorted at her attempt to ask him out. If she knew him as well as she claims she does, she'd know that Phil is completely oblivious to clues that women like him, especially if you ask him to dinner. He'll assume that it's just dinner, and go on home to sleep.

"Um, yeah, sure." He nodded, and I saw him glancing at me with my peripheral vision. "My treat."

"Oh, _really_?" Patty gushed. "Well aren't you sweet?"

"No. I'm hungry." He chuckled lowly. "Excuse me; I have to go talk to someone for a moment."

"It's not the PR girl, is it?" She asked with disdain in her voice. There's the reason why I don't like her. "Punk, you two are over, don't you think it's time to move on?"

"I think that you should mind your business." He shot, and the suggestion brought a trace of a smile to my face. "I'm not paying you to be my love guru. I'm paying you to be my personal assistant. Got it?"

Patty nodded slowly, a look of hurt and a bit of shock clearly written all over her face. "Breakfast or dinner?" She tried to change the subject.

"We can do both. I'll meet up with you in a bit." He said that without even looking at her, and started to march towards me.

I, being the smooth person that I am, have pretended that I've been engaged in thought-provoking conversation all of this time, not listening to what they were saying.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" He grabbed me gently by the back of my elbow. "It'll be quick."

No doubt that I was still a little ticked from his behavior earlier, but I told one of the trainees that I'd be back at the office sooner than later, and went out into the hall to talk to Phil.

Once we were outside, I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms together. "What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

"Obviously. What do you want to talk about?" I rolled my eyes.

"Before I even get started, I just wanted to apologize to you for earlier. It was wrong."

I nodded. "Yeah. It was. Totally unprofessional."

"You don't have to rub it in. I know I fucked up. But I just wanted to know if you thought about… you know… last night."

"No." I lied, and hoped I said it with a convincing look. "I don't think about my personal life when I'm at work, which is why I shouldn't be talking to you right now."

I pushed myself up off of the wall to move past him, but he had other plans and pulled me back.

"Damn it, what do I have to do to make this work?" He asked me with pleading eyes.

"Mr. Brooks," I tried to go back into my professional mode. "Now is really not the ti—"

"Say my name."

I shook my head lightly, trying to figure out where in the hell that came from. "What?"

"Say. My. Name," he commanded. "Because you know good and damned well you're not looking at _Mr. Brooks,_" he said the name with such disgust that I actually flinched a bit. "You're looking at Phil."

"Not now… Phil. Anytime but now," I pleaded softly, shaking my head and looking down. "Not now when I'm at work."

He mimicked his motion from last night and placed a hand under my chin, making me look up at him. "You can't keep using work to avoid me. I'm a stubborn son of a bitch. You know that."

"Why me, Phil? Why can't you move on?" I asked exasperated, and moved my head from his hand, staring at him with hard eyes. "There are plenty of other women in this world. Hell, there are plenty women in your industry. Why can't you move on to them?"

His jaw clenched, and he looked down. He looked as if he were thinking really hard about something. "Because. I don't love them."

WHAT?

Heart, meet floor. Floor, meet heart.

"Are you saying…?" I trailed off.

He simply nodded, looking back at me.

"You never told me that the entire time that we were together." Damn it. Tears are starting to come on. "Technically, you still haven't."

"It took me losing you to realize it," he told me, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from my face. "That's why I didn't move on. But you have. So I guess I have to, too."

I watched him with sad eyes as he started to back away from me, before he made a complete turn and began to walk away.

He actually loves me, and damn it if I don't love him back.

I stand against the wall for a few more moments, watching as Phil started to become an incardinate dot towards the end of the hallway. I sighed and hoped that I wouldn't break my ankle as I started to run as hard as I could in my dress and five-inch heels.

"Phil! Phil! _PUNK_!"

He turned around, confused at my yelling and running, as I kind of teetered to a stop to regain my balance, and he held my arms to steady me.

He gave me a quick glance over, checking for bruises or scratches. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. Not caring that I was out of breath, I grabbed his face in my hands and leaned forward to kiss him. He met me halfway and his hands sat on my hips. It was a sweet and simple kiss, no tongue or anything like that, but it was the most passionate kiss I'd ever had because I poured my heart and soul into that kiss.

When my body decided that oxygen deprivation was no longer okay, I pulled away and rested my head against Phil's, who still had his eyes closed.

"You've got breakfast and dinner plans tonight, right?"

"Yeah." He responded, still holding me close against him.

"Cancel 'em."

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**Happy ending. This is the first time I've finished a chaptered story in… Christ, two years? Three? So I'm a little rusty. Hopefully, this ain't too bad. Thanks for dealing with these few days of just… randomness. Lol. I got more one-shots coming up, which will –stay- oneshots. Lol. One is kind of angsty, one is my attempt at being funny. We'll see.**

**Review and thanks for reading. **


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